“Excellent coffee,” she said when Germaine refilled her mug.
“Roasted at a little place right in the center of town. Can’t miss it. They’ve excellent cinnamon rolls too, if you eat sweets for breakfast.”
“I try to stay healthful…at least for the first meal of the day.”
“No, I get it.” Germaine grinned. “Sweet enough already, huh?”
“Hardly.” But despite herself, she smiled back.
She watched Germaine move on to another table and flirt with two older women in big sun hats. They ate it up, giggling and hanging on her every world. Apparently, a little sweet talk came with each breakfast served at the Riverside Inn & Resort.
Thank goodness. Nikka wasn’t interested anyway; there was no room in her life for anything more than a little harmless banter. And even that had taken up precious time.
The cease-and-desist letters sat neatly tucked into the briefcase at her feet. She had a long day ahead of her. Lea had been insistent on Nikka serving the restraining order to a Margaret Chalon on Walker’s behalf—whoever the hell that was. She pitied the woman. Personally, she would do whatever it took to stay on Lea’s good side. No one in her right mind would want Lea as an enemy.
She took a last sip of the smooth coffee. Time to get to work.
The first stop on the list was Home at Heartwood, a bookstore in the town’s center. A huge black-and-white school composition book hung in the storefront. The marbled notebook was covered with characters from Walker’s Don’t Waste Your Wishes series and screamed copyright infringement. No wonder Lea wanted to get this town under control.
Inside, Beth Walker’s books were on full display, like a shrine to the town’s deity. One table held her Heartwood book in a spiraling column with a poster of the author like a crown at the very top. The rest of the store was dedicated to the far more lucrative Don’t Waste Your Wishes series.
On a nearby podium, an electronic notebook, crafted to resemble the one from Walker’s series, was connected to a large screen above. A boy and girl stood by the display, scribbling into the notebook with the stylus. As they wrote, their wishes popped onto the screen underneath the words: WRITE A WISH, WIN A PRIZE.
Spread throughout the rest of the store were stuffed toys and action figures of the magical creatures that lived in these books. Nikka picked up a plush version of her favorite character, Citrine, the griffin who stood tall and alone in a clan of dragons. She turned the creature over in her hands. The details were perfect: the eagle’s feathers and the lion’s fur were so soft and Citrine’s eyes so knowing. Suddenly, she was her ten-year-old self, lying in bed at night with a flashlight under the covers, reading and rereading volume seven that had introduced Citrine. How many times had she rooted for Ameliah to save Citrine from the dragons who hated her because she was different?
Still holding Citrine, she cast her scrutiny on key chains, magnets, T-shirts, aprons, children’s onesies, and all sorts of other souvenirs from the books. The gall of some people. The owner of Home at Heartwood—a Serina King according to Nikka’s study session the night before—exploiting Walker like this. Stealing her name and characters, without offering a lick of compensation back to the author.
Seeing the evidence in front of her and not just on a piece of paper, she had to remind herself to unclench her teeth. Rules were in place for a reason: to protect people like Beth Walker who couldn’t defend themselves and to punish people like Serina King who exploited the prestige of a famous person for her own gain. This wasn’t going to be an easy week for her here in the Springs, but, law or no law, it was the right thing to do. Walker was old and feeble and needed someone to look out for her interests. She dropped Citrine back into the pile of griffins.
Right. She glanced around. Where was the owner?
A middle-aged woman in a sleeveless striped dress decades too young for her bounced up to Nikka. “You know it’s, like, totally okay for you to buy Citrine.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I have the whole collection at home. I tell myself they’re for my niece when she comes over, but, I don’t know, I just like having them around.” She pointed to another large pile featuring Frost, the white snow fox from volume ten. “There’s other characters in the back.”
Nikka took in the dress, the two blonde braids, and the immature surety that she had already sold the entire stuffed animal collection to another customer. The come-on was way too obvious. Probably not the owner. “I’m looking for Serina.”
“This is Serina’s day off. When she’s not here, I’m the manager.”
“Okay. My name is Nikka Vaskin, and I work for Truman and Steinbrecker, a law firm in San Francisco.” She pulled a white envelope from her briefcase. “Would you please give this letter to Serina?”
“What is it?”
“Just some legal stuff that she needs to take care of.”
The clerk snatched back her hand as if the letter was dripping with disease. “Oh. No. No. I just work here.” She spun away from Nikka, bumping into the table and sending a dozen Citrines tumbling to the floor.
Nikka reached out to the woman and touched her briefly on the arm. The problem was that cease-and-desist letters packed no true legal punch. They were basically a warning to knock it off or all sorts of bad things would come down on Serina King and the bookstore. A necessary first step, though, and the woman had to cooperate.
The woman turned back and met her gaze.
Nikka visibly let her own shoulders drop and smiled her best smile.
“Just give the letter to Serina. That’s all you need to do.” She flapped the letter in front of the woman until she took it. “All Serina has to do is get rid of these knickknacks. Stop profiting from the unauthorized use of the protected name and trademarks of Beth Walker and her books. If she does that, everything will be fine. No harm, no foul.”
“We…she doesn’t do that.”
“Look, why don’t you let Serina worry about that? In the meantime, please just give her the letter.” She handed the woman a business card. “Here’s the card from the lawyer in my office who’s handling all questions. Tell Serina to call if she has any. He’ll be happy to talk to her and explain it all.”
“Okay,” the woman said.
“No, seriously. You’ll be absolutely fine.” Nikka smiled again and nodded. “Hey, where did you get that dress? I really love it.”
The woman gripped the letter a little less tightly as she dropped her own gaze to her flowered dress.
Nikka stayed only until she knew she had talked the woman off the ledge. Her next stop was the coffee house, All Jacked Up.
Even though it was mid-morning, the line snaked out the door and down the street. The smell of cinnamon and buttery pastry drifted down to her, and a mostly empty tray of huge cinnamon rolls sat in the front window. This was the place Germaine had been talking about at breakfast. Too bad. After today, she wouldn’t be able to come back for a caffeine fix.
She squeezed by a trio of women to get inside.
They glared at her for jumping the queue.
“Sorry. Excuse me. I’m not getting coffee.”
All Jacked Up was even busier than the bookstore. Women and a few men perched at the high tables. Some tapped away on computers and tablets; more, however, sat with relaxed poses. Nikka wondered if they were on vacation on this gorgeous summer day in this resort town. Must be nice.
Each customer had a freshly baked pastry on a plate. The smell was even better inside, and Nikka’s mouth started to water, protesting her way-too-healthy breakfast.
At the back of the large, industrial room was a small stage. Dark for the moment, but large flags advertising Heartwood — A Dramatization hung on either side and promised excitement every night at eight.
Nikka swung to a busboy who was cleaning up a nearby table. “Hi. Is Justine Cammelle here?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, “she’s in back. Do you want me to get her?”
“If you don’t mind. Thank you.”
A few seconds later, Justine Cammelle strode out. Her steps ate up the ground, telling Nikka that a compliment on her clothes and a gentle touch weren’t going to work here.
She met Justine with her hand outstretched and took her fingers in a strong grip. “Nikka Vaskin. Attorney at Truman and Steinbrecker. We represent Beth Walker. Please accept this cease-and-desist letter. Here is the card of a lawyer at my office who will answer any further questions.” She turned, attempting a quick getaway.
“Hold on a minute.”
When Nikka turned back, Justine’s face was already blotchy.
“Cease and desist what?”
“The performances for starters.” Nikka waved a hand at the stage. “And selling those cookbooks as well.”
A large stack of Coffee Breaks — Creative Coffees with the Characters of Heartwood stood prominently on the counter.
“What are you talking about? Those are my mother’s recipes!”
“Put in the mouth of characters from Beth Walker’s lawful property. All you have to do is pull the play and the books.”
Justine rolled her eyes like a teenager. “Give me a break. Sammy never had a problem with it.”
Nikka’s dislike rose from her gut. “You had a break for the last ten years as you willfully capitalized on the fame of Heartland without the author’s permission. Break time is over, I’m afraid.”
“You can’t do this.” Justine raised her voice. The people in line and behind the counter all looked over. “You cut me off, and I’ll have to fire people. Besides, Beth Walker needs us. Everyone would forget about her and her stupid books if it weren’t for businesses like mine.” The blotches had connected, leaving her whole face bright red.
“My advice is for you is call a lawyer of your own, Ms. Cammelle. Emotion can often cloud an understanding of the law.” Nikka nodded her dismissal. “Thank you for your time.”
“You bitch. You can’t just come in here and tell me…”
Nikka stopped listening. Yep. It was going to be a long, hard day at this rate. She pushed past the same three women to leave the store. This time instead of stepping out of her way, they jostled her as she made her way through the door.
“Bitch is right.” The heavier one put her hands on her hips to give Nikka even less room.
As Nikka walked away, Justine whipped out her cell phone and punched numbers into its keypad. Maybe there was hope yet. She was taking her advice. Calling a lawyer.
It wasn’t until she reached Pick of the Litter, where the collars with the talking dogs and cats from volume three were, that she realized Justine had called someone else.
The owner came at her even before she walked into the shop, eyes flashing and waving some sort of doggie pop treat like a weapon.
“Don’t you dare! I know what you’re all about. Get off my private property.”
Nikka dropped Pick of Litter’s letter on the table right by the collars in question and darted out. Back in the safety of her car, she glanced at her watch. Even with the quick delivery at the pet store and the efficient route she had mapped, the letters in her case were still too many for one person, especially if she got another Justine or scared bookstore girl. She had wanted to serve them all herself. Prove to Lea that her trust wasn’t misguided.
“Get help if you need it. I want them to all delivered before I get there,” Lea had said before she left the City.
Damnit. She picked up her phone.
A deep male voice answered.
“Harlan Potter? Nikka Vaskin here,” she said through teeth she had to consciously unclench. “I’m going to have to add several more deliveries to your afternoon schedule, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me adding at least two more zeros to your invoice.” He laughed at his own joke.
Nikka sighed. Everyone was a comedian. “You need to call Alison about that.” Nikka was happy to pass the buck, literally, back to Lea’s assistant who had connected her with Potter in the first place. “My plan is to swing by the courthouse and pick up the restraining order. Can you meet me at Made From Scratch in…let’s say,” she glanced at her watch, “in an hour?”
“Yes, siree. I can.” Potter’s pitch was so low, he sounded as if he were auditioning for an animated cartoon villain.
“Great. See you then.”
Nikka got to the bakery with time to spare, so she walked around the shopping center. In the middle was a kiosk that housed an old hand-painted sign—See What We Saw—and faded color photos of what the mall had once looked like as a lumberyard in the 1960s. Now, instead of logs, trendy stores filled every corner.
When Lea had said that Beth Walker was a cottage industry for the whole town, she hadn’t been kidding. Even the cold-pressed juice shop offered a “Walker” that promised to “give you the zing to find your true love in the Springs.” It was crazy. Did Lea really intend to negotiate contracts with the entire town? When Lea arrived after bad cop Nikka had done all the legwork, she would find out. Lea would roll in as the good cop, happy to restore revenue to all these stores as long as they played by the new rules. And with a little luck, Nikka would get some quality time with the managing partner.
The woman outside the juice shop offered her a tiny cup filled with a brackish liquid. “Try a free sample of the Citrine, our Activated Charcoal Cleanser. It has lemon, lavender, and honey too.”
Nikka waved her off.
“It tastes really good. Soaks up the toxins. Give it a try.”
“No, thanks. I like my charcoal to stay in the barbecue.”
The woman rolled her eyes and offered her tray to another passerby.
“Nikka Vaskin?” A deep voice asked, and Nikka spun toward a tiny, slight man with big ears and a long, ratty ponytail.
“Harlan Potter. Nice to meet you.” The man didn’t just sound like a cartoon character; he actually looked like one too. They shook hands. He had a surprisingly strong grip for such a small person.
“I hear you’ve made my job a little harder this afternoon. You know news spreads fast in the Springs. The locals are a pretty tight-knit group.”
“So you said.” She held out the restraining order. “No time to waste. The important one first.”
“Gotcha.” He plucked the oversized form out of her hand and glanced down at it. “Maggie’s a bit of a pisser, you know. May take all my skills.” He gave her a greedy look.
“I told you to call Alison.” Nikka shook her head. She preferred the comedian to the letch. “You sure she’s at this bakery?”
“I just told you we’re a close-knit group here in the Springs. Yes, this is where she works. You want to give me the letters, too, now?”
“After this one is served. I need to make sure it’s done right. Shall we go?”
The tips of Potter’s large ears went red. “Lawyers don’t usually come with.”
“Boss’s orders.” Nikka shrugged. It wasn’t true, but she wasn’t about to admit that she was a control freak and chasing a big-time promotion.
“Whatever.” He headed to the bakery with surprisingly long strides for such a short man.
Nikka followed, only to stop short.
An old, red mountain bike was chained to the rack by the bakery. She probably wouldn’t have recognized it out in the streets, but with its back tire angled to her, all she saw now was a tight little butt swaying from side to side as long legs pedaled down the street away from her Outback.
Of course! Margaret Chalon was the crazy bike lady. What had she done to make Lea so mad that she slapped a restraining order on her? Never mind. That was none of her business.
But why did Ms. Chalon have to keep popping up over and over again?
Maggie yawned wide as she piped the peanut butter decorations onto the doggie cake pops. She hadn’t been able to get much work done on the pops the day before, as settling back into the bakery took much longer than she had expected. So she had set her alarm before dawn in order to get an early start. What sh
e hadn’t counted on was that Lauren had moved the hide-a-key from the hiding place, and she had been locked out.
When Lauren finally showed up, Maggie had been nearly asleep on the stoop.
“You’re here early.” Lauren had handed her a coffee with an All Jacked Up stamp.
“Thanks. Trying to impress my boss.”
“Good strategy.” Lauren had smiled, and Maggie had kept quiet about freezing her butt off for over an hour.
Hours of concentrated work later, she stuck yet another completed doggie pop into the Styrofoam base. There were only two empty holes left. The idea of slipping away early to take a nap started to brew in her mind.
“Hi! Welcome to Made From Scratch. What treat can I get you today?” Lauren’s shop girl, Skylar, greeted another customer.
Skylar was way too upbeat for her tastes, and her greeting made Maggie cringe every time she heard it.
“Nothing to eat, little lady. But I’ll take some face time with Maggie Chalon. Get her, if you will please.”
Harlan Potter? What’s that little weasel doing here? She wiped the peanut butter off her hands onto the apron and marched out into the storefront, shaking a finger at the little man. “Harlan, I told you last night at the gym. Leave me alone. I don’t want you following me around.”
“Ah, Maggie, I’m crushed.” He placed a hand on his chest in mock upset. “Sadly, this isn’t pleasure, but any time you want to reconsider who lights your fire, I’m free.”
“Harlan—”
He put up a hand to stop her advance. “No, seriously. This is business.” He sidled over, close enough to hand her a form. “Maggie Chalon, you’ve been served.” He snapped a picture of that very fact with his cell phone. “Thank you.”
“What?” She looked down. The words temporary restraining order rode the top of the very official-looking form. Right under that, the name of Elizabeth Westin Walker was typed under Section 1: Protected Person. She had to scan down to Section 2: Restrained Person to find her own name, Margaret Hayden Chalon. What on earth? Surely this was some sort of joke. She raised her head to meet Harlan’s gaze.
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